


Shreiks of Terror

by Loki_Chaser



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack, Funny, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, The Witching Hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Chaser/pseuds/Loki_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a rustling in the night... Who better to inspect than our poor- I MEAN, wonderful Hero?  </p>
<p>Rus/Amer if you squint very very hard and turn your head to the left</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shreiks of Terror

A groan broke the midnight silence as Alfred Jones, country of America and hero extraordinaire, awoke with a start. Shooting up into a sitting position, the nation glanced around rapidly, barely noticing Texas askew on his nose. Had he fallen asleep with them on again? No matter; the blonde only wanted to shake off the nightmare he'd woken from. His love, burgers, had told him in the most gruff, rude language that they no longer loved him and, "No, he most definitely was NOT the Hero." Alfred shivered at the mere thought. Sighing and leaning back against the headboard, Alfred looked at the digital clock on his bedside table and froze. 3:00 AM. The Witching Hour. Shit. 'If Iggy were here, he'd be havin' a ball!' Alfred thought with a grimace. All sorts of ghosts come out at this time! The Hero then proceeded to release a high pitched yelp, burrowing in to his red, white and blue sheets, as he heard an obscenely loud creak in the floor boards. "P-probably... j-j-j-just Tony!" He whispered to himself, willing to the Gods it was his small alien friend. A rustle wracked Alfred from his musings, causing the nations eyes to shoot open. When had he closed them? Jeez. He was losing it! The rustle noise was still present as our Hero glanced around before finally looking down at the skirt of his bed, bust in time so see it fall back into place. "There's someone... or someTHING under there!" The nation shook. On the inside, he felt like crying, but the flaxen haired man put on an air of confidence as he swung his head to stare at the skirt of the bed. Nantucket brushed the carpet as he hung upside down and a steely expression came over. Reaching out, Alfred gripped the loose material, began to pull back and...

Promptly fell headfirst off of the bed.

"OW!" He cried, rubbing the sore spot on his head. Damn 3 AM. Ghost probably made him do it... Giving a sigh, Alfred reached and quickly pulled back the skirt only to reveal... Nothing. The Hero cocked his head to the side. Then what made the skirt move? He glanced around his room only to find his window ajar and a gentle breeze flowing in. The blonde readjusted his glasses and blinked a few times before bursting out in loud guffaws. When had he opened his window though? He chuckled, going to close the window, before freezing in place once more. Two strong arms twirled around his waist as a nose was pressed to the back of his neck. "You're coming back to bed now... Да?"

Alfred shrieked.

**Author's Note:**

> 3 AM is known in the Occult to be "the Witching Hour" where it is supposed that ghosts and spirits, as well as other supernatural beings, have closer ties with the human realm and can reach earth easier than at other points of the day.


End file.
